


my virtues uncounted

by skatzaa



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Look It's Complicated, Morally Ambiguous Character(s), Science Fiction, Technically Enemies AND Lovers, With a Little Bit of Sarcastic Fealty Thrown in For Seasoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: The guards shoved Týse down and she hit the throne room floor hard, the impact jarring her already bruised and aching knees. She would’ve overbalanced without her hands free, but one of them kept a tight grip on her shoulder, pulling it even further back—not that she could do much with her hands in a pair of magcuffs, but she appreciated the thought. Most in these guards' positions tended to underestimate her, to their own dismay.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Space Empress/Space Pirate Queen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	my virtues uncounted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [problematiquefave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/gifts).



> I love this pairing. I love it. I could write a hundred iterations of this pairing alone and I would probably never get tired of it.
> 
> Problematiquefave, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Title from Shrike by Hozier.

The guards shoved Týse down and she hit the throne room floor hard, the impact jarring her already bruised and aching knees. She would’ve overbalanced without her hands free, but one of them kept a tight grip on her shoulder, pulling it even further back—not that she could do much with her hands in a pair of magcuffs, but she appreciated the thought. Most in these guards' positions tended to underestimate her, to their own dismay. 

Her hair was still pulled back in a snarled mess that had been a braid, three days ago, so she didn’t have that to hide behind. Instead, she kept her head tilted forward, eyes down, but it wasn’t out of any reverence for the throne before her. She was still trying to get her implant back online, but whatever they’d hit her with to knock her out on the _Xerxes_ had also booted her, hard, from the ‘stream.

“Thank you,” said a low, smooth voice from above her. “You may leave us.”

One of the guards tensed, boots shifting minutely, while the other relaxed back onto their heels, but neither said anything. Interesting. It took another long moment for them to salute, presumably, and then they pivoted in unison and marched away.

It was only after she heard the great metal doors of the hall swing closed that Týse looked up.

The empress sat on the throne before her, draped in a silver robe so fine it looked to be liquid mercury, rippling gently with every movement. Her long dark hair was drawn back in a simple topknot, unadorned save for a thin platinum circlet. Her hands, in contrast, were nearly dripping with rings, signifying the loyal systems and Houses. If one fell out of favor—or did something fantastically stupid like, say, staging a rebellion—the empress had only to remove her ring. No longer under her protection, they would be fair game for pirates and fringers and the more opportunistic Houses.

Týse managed a quick count—twenty seven. Three fewer than last time, but at least two bore new symbols that Týse had yet to see. 

She wondered if it meant the Gayel had succeeded in their quest to unite the systems of the eastern spiral arm, or if the five had done something else to earn the empress’s ire.

Finally, Týse looked up and met ship-metal gray eyes, already focused on her. She hadn’t given up on getting back into the ‘stream, but it didn’t seem like it was happening any time soon. She said, more as a way to break the silence than anything else, “We really need to stop meeting like this, Yrena.”

The empress stared at her, inscrutable, and then the corner of her mouth tugged upward. Subtle, but there. And a lot more obvious than some of the other signals she’d had to pick up on, in their past interactions.

“Captain Arion,” said the Empressa Galaxia, in a way that implied she wanted Týse to use her full title, despite the lack of witnesses. She didn’t bother to correct Yrena—sorry, excuse her, the Empressa Galaxia—on her own title; something told her this wasn’t the time to kick up a fuss over semantics, when the empress had never before acknowledged Týse’s claim to _queen,_ though she acknowledged the House queens. The empress continued, “I find I am in need of your services once more.”

 _Services_ could mean a lot of things, but Týse figured she probably didn’t mean anything too _personal._ For one, the magcuffs usually didn’t get broken out until much later in the cycle. But even generally—

“Why the cuffs then?” Týse asked, and then tacked on, “Your Serenity.”

Whenever the empress had requested her assistance in the past, she had rarely gone through the trouble of making such a big production over it. She didn’t usually have Týse taken from her ship by force or dragged all through her massive fortress-ship by a contingent of imperial guards, where any of the court might see her. Usually, there was a coded summons through the ‘stream, and a back airlock left conveniently unmanned, and an understanding that neither Týse nor her crew would attack the ship while docked, if they knew what was good for them.

Týse certainly knew what was good for her. But it usually didn’t start with cuffs.

“You must forgive me for putting on a show. As you might have heard, some of my ministers are pushing for stricter punishments throughout the galaxy for criminals, petty or otherwise,” Yrena said. She tilted her head, and her eyes darkened from ship-metal gray to near-black. It was disconcerting and heady, all at once.

“I’ve heard,” Týse managed, trying not to let it bite. She’d lost two ships in the fleet just a few cycles ago, in a system where they regularly traded for safe passage. Her first mate had gone down on the _Ravana,_ and it still awoke something vicious in her heart to think of it. Fayn might’ve been a pirate, but she didn’t deserve the slow, painful death of being left there, dead in space with critically low oxygen levels. “So you’ve decided to finally execute me. Is that it?”

Yrena leant forward, the robe sliding across her shoulders. She said, “Captain Arion, you have managed what no other has done since the time of my great-great-great grandmother, may she rest with the stars. You have united squabbling pirate bands into a single, organized fleet. You do not target Imperial vessels unnecessarily, and you keep the more troublesome systems in line for me.” She stood, and descended from the throne dais in a rippling sheen of light, all so that she could reach down and hold Týse’s chin in her fingers. She tilted Týse’s head back to the point that it ached, her throat bare and exposed, but she held Yrena’s dark eyes. “The last thing I desire is to lose such a useful tool.”

Týse could make the argument that she was anything but a _tool,_ but she had a feeling it would be undercut, just a _bit,_ by their current position. And the fact that she still hadn’t thrown herself back out of reach, magcuffs be damned. 

She wasn’t one to bare her throat, as a general rule. Too much chance for someone to take that and use it against her. But she didn’t pull away or yank her chin down when Yrena continued to study her, eyes roving across her face, grasp firm but not painful. She wondered if she looked as bruised as she felt. Her neck was starting to really burn, probably a side effect from overextension and compounded by the lingering whiplash of that imperial cruiser plowing straight into the _Xerxes._ She hoped her ship was okay, after the collision and subsequent firefight. _Xerxes_ was a tough old broad, but those newer model cruisers were designed for that sort of combat. Her ship wasn't.

The sleeve of that gorgeous silver robe brushed against the exposed skin of her upper arm, and she shivered. It was finer than any silk she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing, let alone feeling. She wanted to feel more of it. 

She wasn’t one to bare her throat, but—Týse’d always liked powerful women. And it didn’t get more powerful than the empress. 

At long last, Yrena smiled again, sharp and hungry, and said in a low voice, “My ministers think they know what is best for the galaxy.” Her fingers tightened, just barely. “They are wrong.”

Týse couldn’t stop a wicked grin from blooming, just as ravenous. 

“Give me names,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”


End file.
